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HEROINES OE SHAKSPEARE: 



COMPRISING TIIE 



PRINCIPAL FEMALE CHARACTERS 



€\)^ ^kp nf tjf §mi l^^ui 



ENCKAVED UNDER TIIE DIRECTION OF 



D. L. GLOVER, 



FROM DRAWINGS BY EMINENT ARTISTS. 



BOSTON: 
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & COMPANY. 






(\^ 






\i> 






ADDTIESS. 



What a celebrated critic (Mrs. Jameson) has applied to one of Shak- 
speure's Female cnaracters may without much license be extended to 
all. Darting her far-glancing look from earth to heaven for some 
exquisite comparison, " to what," she asks, " shall we compare them? 
— to the silvery summer clouds which, even while we gaze on them, 
shift their hues and forms, dissolving into air and light and rainbow 
showers ? — to the May morning, flush with opening blossoms and 
roseate dews, and ' charm of earliest birds V — to some wild and 
beautiful melody, such as some shepherd-boy might ' pipe to Ama- 
rillis in the shade?' — to a mountain streamlet, now smooth as a 
mirror, in which the skies may glass themselves, and now leaping 
and sparkling in the sunshine — or rather, to the very sunshine itself— 
for so His genial spirit touches into life and beauty whatever it 
shines on !'' 

"No one," remarks Hazlitt, in his "Characters of Shakspeare's 
Plays," — " no one ever hit the true perfection of the female character 

the sense of weakness leaning on the strength of its affections for 

support — so well as Shakspeare ; no one ever so well painted 
natural tenderness, free from atfectation and disguise; no one ever 
so well showed how delicacy and timidity, when driven to extremity, 
o-row romantic and extravagant, for the romance of his heroines (in 
which they abound) is only an excess of the habitual prejudices of 
their sex, scrupulous ^f being false to their vows, truant to their 



alTeclioiis, and taught by the force of feeling when to forego the 
forms of propriety for the essence of it." 

To embody sich conceptions — to give to each exquisite creation 
a " local habitation " in the mind's eye — is the object of the present 
work. Artists of the highest reputation have been engaged to pro- 
duce characteristic portraits of the great Shakspeare Heroines, to 
show them " not mere poetical abstractions, nor, as they have been 
termed, mere ' abstractions of the affections :' 



But common clay ta'en from tlie common eartb. 
Moulded by God, and tempei-ed by the teisrs 
Of angels to the perfect form of — ivomnnT 



CONTENTS. 



arsjECT. 



^IiRANDA, /. Hayter, Tempest. ' 

V Julia, A. Egg, Two Gentlemen.' 

\ 3IRS. Ford, E. Corbould, Merry Wives.' 

^Olivia, W. P. Frith, Twelfth Night. 

s/lsABELLA, J. W. Wright, Measure for JMeasure. 

vBeatrice, J. W. Wright, Much Ado. 

"^TiTANiA, K. Meadows, Mids. Night's Dream. 

^Princess of France, . . J. W. Wright, Love's Labor. 

vPoRTiA, 3. W. Wright, Merchant of Venice.' 

^ Rosalind, K. Meadows, As You Like It. 

V Helena, J. W. Wright, All's Well. 

nKatherine, A. Egg, Taming of the Shrew. 

VPerdita, /. Hayter, Winter's Tale. 

''LuciANA, J. W. Wright, .... Comedy of Errors. 

N Lady Macbeth, . . . . K. Meadows, Macbeth. 

■^ CoNST^vNCE, J. W. Wright, .... King John. 

V Queen to Richard Second, . S. Johnston, Richard Second. 

>Mjady Percy, J. W. Wright, King Henry IV. 

VLady Northumberland,. . J. W. Wright, .... Henry IV. — Part 2. 

V Princess Katherine, . . . J. W. Wright, .... King Henry V. 

V Joan of Arc, J. W. Wright, King Henry VI. 



vr 



CONTENTS. 



NQuEEN Margaret, . . . J. W. Wright, 

ylh&sY Gret, J. W. Wright, 

vLady Anne, ...../. W, Wright, 

vQuEEN Katherine, . . . J. W. Wright, 

vCressida, K. Meadows, . 

Wirgilia, A. Johnston, . 

\/ Portia (wife of Brutus), . J.W.Wright, 

^Cleopatra, ..... A'. Meadows, . 

N Imogen, L W. Wright, 

Vlavinia, J. W. Wright, 

Vthasia, E. Corbould, . 

N Cordelia, . . , . A. Johnston, . 

V Juliet, /. Hayter, . . 



(^-Vt.crra> .;) Ophelia, /. Haijter, 

V PESDESfONA, A. Egg, 



King Henry \^. 

King Henry \T. 

King Richard III. 

King Henry YIU. 

Troilus and Crcssida. 

Coriolanus. 

Julius Caesar. 

Antony and Clcopatru 

Cymbeline. 

Titus Androni^us. 

Pericles, Prince of Tyre 

King Lear. 

Romeo and Juliei 

Hamlet. 

Otliello 



MIRANDA 



Miranda. Alack, fur pity ! 

I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then, 
Will cry it o'er again ; it is a hint. 
That wrings naine eyes to't. — Wherefore did they not 
That hour destroy us 1 

Prospero. Well demanded, wench ; 

My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst noi : 
So dear the love my people bore me ; nor set 
A mark so bloody on the business ; but 
With colors fairer painted their foul ends. 
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark ; 
Bore us some leagues to sea ; where they prepared 
A rotten carcase of a boat, not rigg'd. 
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast ; the very rats 
Instinctively had quit it : there they hoist us, 
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us ; to sigh 
To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again. 
Did us but loving wrong. 

Miranda. Alack ! what trouble 

Was I then to you ! 

Prospero. O ! a cherubim 

Thou wast, that did preserve me ! Thou didst smile, 
Infused with a fortitude from heaven. 
When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt ; 
Under my burden groan'd ; which rais'd in me 
An undergoing stomach, to bear up 
Against what should ensue. 

Miranda. How came we asliore ? 

Prospero. By Providence divine. 
Some food we had, and some fresh w^ater, that 
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, 
Out of his charity (who being then appointed 
Master of this design), did give us ; with 
Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries, 
Which since have steaded much ; so, of his gentleness, 
Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me, 
From my own library, with volumes that 
I prize above my dukedom. 

Miranda. 'Would, I might 

But ever see that man ! 

Tempebt. — .fid. I.. Scene 11. 




■ '2.tiUL^ 



JULIA 



JuLla. 1 would I knew his mind. 

LiiceMa. Peruse this paper, madam. 

JuUj,. '• To Julia,^' — Say, from whom ') 

Lucetta. That the contents will show. 

Julia. Say, say ; who gave it thee ? 

Lucetta. Sir Valentine's page ; and sent, I think, from Proteus ; 
He would have given it you. but I, being in the way, 
Did in your name receive it ; pardon the fault, I pray. 

Julia. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker ! 
Dare you presume to harbor wanton lies ? 
To whisper and conspire against my youth 7 
Now, trust me, 't is an oflSce of great worth, 
And you an officer fit for the place. 
There take the paper, see it be returned ; 
Or else return no more into my sight. 

Lucetta. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate. 

Julia. Will you begone ? 

Lucetta. That you may ruminate. [Exit. 

Julia. And yet I would I had o'erlooked the letter. 
It were a shame to call her back again, 
And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. \ 

What fool is she, that knows I am a maid, i 

And would not force the letter to my view ! \ 

Since maids, in modesty, say No to that ! 

Which they would have the profferer construe Ay! ' 

Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love, , 

That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse, ■ 

And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod ! j 

How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, ] 

When willingly I would have had her here ! ^ 

How angerly I taught my brow to frown, ! 

When inward joy enforced my heart to smile ! j 

My penance is, to call Lucetta back, ; 

And ask remission for my folly past : — ; 

What ho ! Lucetta ! 

Two Gentlemen of Verona. — Act L, Scene IL 





TWC 3EXTLEMEN OF yERONA 
Act . 1 . Sc. 2 . 



MUS. FORD. 



.Mrs. Ford. Why, this is the very same; the very hand, the very 
words : What doth he think of us ? 

Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not ; it makes me almost ready to 
wrangle with mine own honesty. I'll entertain myself like one that 
I am not acquainted withal ; for, sure, unless he know some strain 
in me, that I know not myself, he would never have boarded me in 
this fury. 

Mrs. Ford. Boarding call you it ? I'll be sure to keep him above 
deck. 

Mrs. Page. So will I; if he come under my hatches, I'll never to 
sea again. Let's be revenged on him ; let's appoint him a meeting ; 
give him a show of comfort in his suit ; and lead on with a fine- 
baited delay, till he hath pawned his horses to mine Host of the 
Garter. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any villany against him, 
that may not sully the chariness of our honesty. 0, that my husband 
saw this letter ! it would give eternal food to his jealousy. 

Mrs. Page. Why, look, where he comes ; and my good man, too ; 
he's as far from jealousy, as I from giving him cause; and that, I 
hope, is an unmeasurable distance. 

Mrs. Ford. You are the happier woman. 

Mrs. Pagt . Liet's consult together against this greasy knight : 
Come hither. 

Merry Wives of Windsor. — Act U.y Scene II. 




(2^(2^^ 



MERRr fiavss OF KBa>m} 

Act.2:'Sc.l. ■,,', 



B0STO15 
PHIlilPS. SAi^PSCW &C9 



OLIVIA 



Viola. I see you what you are : you are too proud ; 

But, if you were the devil, you are fair. j 
My lord and master lovos you ; 0, such love 
Could be but recompensed, though you were crowned 

The nonpareil of beauty ! ( 

Olivia. IIow does he love me? i 

Viola. With adorations, with fertile tears. 
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. 

Olivia. Your lord does know my mind, — I cannot love hira : i 

Yet I suppose him virtuous, know hira noble, i 

Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth ; 1 
In voices well divulged, free, learned, and valiant, 

And in dimension and the shape of nature j 

A gracious person : but yet I cannot love him ; i 

He might have took his answer long ago. ; 

Viola. If I did love you in my master's flame, 
With such a suflfering, such a deadly hfe, 

In your denial I would find no sense, — '; 

I would not understand it. i 

Olivia. Why, what would you ? J 

Viola. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, \ 

And call upon my soul within the house ; i 

Write loyal cantons of contemned love, j 

And sing them loud even in the dead of night ; j 
Holla your name to the reverberate hills. 

And make the babbling gossip of the air ■] 

Cry out, Olivia ! 0, you should not rest 1 

Between the elements of air and earth, ' 

But you should pity me. , 

Olivia. You might do much : — what is your parentage 1 ; • 

Viola. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well • 

I am a gentleman. \ 

Olivia. Get you to your lord ; \ 

I cannot love him : let him send no more ; \ 

Unless, perchance, you come to me again, '' 
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well : 

I thank you for your pains : spend this for me. < 

Twelfth Night. — Act I.^ Scene V. ' I 



?,•» ' !»**« 







r.VELFTK I7IC-ET 
Act! Sc S 



ISABELLA 



Isabella. I have a brother is loiidemi.'d to die: 
I do beseech you, let it be his fault, 
And not my brother. 

Angela. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it ? 
Why, every fault's condemn'd, ere it be done • 
Mine were the very cypher of a function. 

To fine the faults, whose fine stands in record, ^ 

And let go by the actor, 

Isabella. O just, but severe law! 

I had a brother then. — Heaven keep your honor ! 

Must he needs die 1 

Angela. ^Maiden, no remedy 

He's sentenc'd : 'tis too late 

Isabella. Too late? why, no ; I, that do speak a word. 
May call it back again : Well, believe this, 
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs. 
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword. 
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, 
Become them with one half so good a grace, 
As mercy does. If he had been as you, 
And you as he, you would have slipt like him ; 
But he, like you, would not have been so stern. 

.fingelo. 'Pray you, begone. 

Isabella. I would to Heaven I had your potency, 
And you were Isabel ! should it then be thus 1 
No ; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge. 
And what a prisoner. 

Angela. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, 

And you but waste your words 

It is the law, not I, condemns your brother : 

Were he ray kinsman, brother, or my son, 

It should be thus with him ; — he must die to-morrow. 

Isabella. To-morrow ? O, that's sudden ! Spare him. spare 
him : 
He's not prepar'd for death ! 

M RASUUE FOR MrASURE.— ./?C^ //.. SCBUe II. 




■' a^/^^i/Yj'^ 



UI^ASURE FOR UEA.SWm 
Act 2 Set. 



BE A.TRICE 



Beatrice. 1 pray you, is signior Montano returned from the wars, or 
no? 

Messenger. I know none of that name, lady ; there was none such in 
the army of any sort. 

Leonato. What is he that you ask for, niece ? 

Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of Padua. 

Messenger. 0, he is returned ; and as pleasant as ever he was. 

Beatrice. He set up his bills here in Messina, and challenged Cupid at 
the flight : and my uncle's fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for 
Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt. — I pray you, how many hath 
he killed and eaten in these wars 1 But how many hath he killed ? for, 
indeed, I promised to eat all of his killing. 

Leonato. 'Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too much ; but he'll 
be meet with you, I doubt it not. 

Messenger. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars. 

Beatrice. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it : he is a 
very valiant trencher-man, he hath an excellent stomach. 

Messenger. And a good soldier too, lady. 

Beatrice. And a good soldier to a lady : — But what is he to a lord ? 

Messenger. A lord to a lord, a man to a man ; stuffed with all 
honorable virtues. 

Beatrice. It is so, indeed ; he is no less than a stuffed man : — But for 
the stuffing, — Well, we are all mortal. 

Much Ado about Nothing. — Jict I., Scejie L 




MUCJi: ADO ABOUT NOTHn/f' 

Act 1 So. 1 



T I T A N 1 A 



Titania. My Oberon ! what visions have 1 seen ' 
Methought I was enamor'd of an ass. 

Oberon. There lies your love. 

Titania. How came these things to pass 1 

0, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now ! 

Oberon. Silence, avv'hile. — Robin, take off this head. — 
Titania, music call ; and strike more dead 
Than common sleep, of all these five the sense. 

Titania. Music, ho ! music : such as charmeth sleep. 

Puck. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own fool's eyes peep. 

Oberon. Sound, music. [Still inusic.'] Come, my queen, take 
hands with me. 
And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. 
Now thou and I are new in amity ; 
And will, to-morrow midnight, solemnly, 
Dance in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly. 
And bless it to all fair posterity : 
There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be 
Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity. 

Puck. Fairy king, attend and mark ; 
I do hear the morning lark. 

Oberon. Then, my queen, in silence sad, 
Trip we after the night's shade : 
We the globe can compass soon, 
Swifter than the wand'ring moon. 

Titania. Come, my lord ; and in our flight. 
Tell me how it came this night. 
That 1 sleeping here was f'^ur-d 
With these mortals on the ground. [Exeunt. 

MiDsiTMMER Night's Dream Jid IV., Scene J, 










.{.-{■(Z^7Z6; 



^i/y' 



WDSUMHER mOilTS DHEAM 

Act.4 Scl. 



PRINCESS OF FRANCE 



Princess. Amaz'd, my lord ! Why looks your highness sad i 
Rosaline. Help, hold his brows ! he'll swoon ! Why look 
you pale i 
Sea-sick, 1 think, coming from Muscovy. 

Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury. 

Can any face of brass hold longer out 1 — 
Here stand I, lady ; dart thy skill at me ; 

Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a Houtj 
Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance ; 

Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit; 
And I will wish thee never more to dame, 

Nor never more in Russian habit wait. 
O! never will I trust to speeches penn'd, 

Nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue , 
Nor ever come in risor to my friend ; 

Nor woo in rhyme like a blind harper's song; 
Taffata phrases, silken terms precise, 

Three pil'd hyperboles, spruce altectation, 
J^ igures pedantical ; these summer-flies 

Have blown me full of maggot ostentation . 
I do forswear them, and I here protest, 

By this white glove (how white the hand, God knows'.), 
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express d 

In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes ; 
And, to begin, wench, —so God help me, la ! 
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw. 

Love's Labor's Lost. — Jid V., Scenp II. 





;^ 



LOVES' LABOUR J/3ST 

Act 5. Sc.g,' 



PORTIA. 



Portia. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a- weary of this great 
world. 

Nerissa. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in ll;o 
same abundance as your good fortunes are : And yet, for aught I see, 
they are as sick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with 
nothing. It is no mean happiness therefore to be seated in the mean ; 
superfluity comes sooner by white haii-s, but competency lives longer. 

Portia. Good sentences, and well pronounced. 

Nerissa. They would be better, if well followed. 

Portia. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, 
chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes' palaces. 
It is a good divine that foil ws his own instructions : I can easier teach 
twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow 
mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood ; but a hot 
temper leaps over a cold decree ; such a hare is madness the youth, to skip 
o'er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. But this reasoning is not 
in the fashion to choose me a husband : — me, the word choose ! I 
may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike ; so is the 
will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father. Is it not 
hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none 1 

Nerissa. Your father was ever virtuous : and holy men, at their death, 
have good inspirations; therefore, the lottery that he hath devised in 
these three chests, of gold, silver and lead (whereof who chooses his 
meaning chooses you), will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly, 
but one who you shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your 
affection towards any of these princely suitors that are already come ? 

Portia. I pray thee over-name them ; and, as thou namest them, I 
will describe them ; and, according to my description, level at my affec- 
lion. 

Merchant of Venice. — Act I., Scene 11. 




-a^E- 



L a V F .Wt 



^^^riuL^ 



MERCEMT OF VEITICE. 
Act! Sc.2. 



ROSALIND 



Celia. Didst thou hear these verses ? 

Rosalind. 0, yes, I heard them all, and more too ; for some o( 
thern had in them more feet than the verses would bear 

Celia. That's no matter ; the feet might bear the verses. 

Rosalind. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves 
without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse. 

Celia. But didst thou hear, without wondering, how thy name should 
be hang'd and carv'd upon these trees 1 

Rosalind. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder, before 
you came ; for look here what 1 found on a palm-tree : I never was so 
be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I 
can hardly remember. 

Celia. Trow you, who hath done this 1 

Rosalind. Is it a man ? 

Celia. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck : Change 
you color ? 

Rosalind. I pr'ythee, who ? 

Celia. lord, lord ! it is a hard matter for friends to meet, but 
mountains may be removed with earthquakes, and so encounter. 

Rosalind. Nay, but who is it? 

Celia. Is it possible 1 

Rosalind. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary vehemence, 
toll me who it is ? 

Celia. wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful, and 
yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping 1 

Rosalind. Good my complexion ! dost thou think, though I am 
caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition 1 
One inch of delay more is a South-sea of discovery. I pr'ythee tell 
me, who is it ? quickly, and speak apace ; I would thou couldst stam- 
mer, that thou mightest pour this concealed man out of (by mouth, 
as wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bottle ; either loo much at 
once, or none at all. I pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, 
that I may chink thy tidings. 

As You Like It. — Act III., Scene 11. 







<^ 










HELENA 



Helena. Which is the Frenchman 1 

Diana, He ; 

That with the plume : 'tis a most gallant fellow ; 
I would he lov'd his wife : if he were lionester, 
He were much goodlier : — Is't not a handsome gentleman ? 

Helena. I like him well. 

Diana. 'Tis pity, he is not honest : Yond's that same knave, 
That leads him to these places ; were I his lady, 
I'd poison that vile rascal. 

Helena. Which is he 1 

Diana. That Jack-an-apes with scarfs : Why is he melancholy ? 

Helena. Perchance he's hurt i'the battle. 

Parolles. Lose our drum ! well. 

Mariana. He's shrewdly vex'd at something : Look, he has spied 
us. 

Widow. Marry, hang you ! 

Mariana. And your courtesy for a ring carrier ! 

Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, Officers, 
and Soldiers. 

Widow. The troop is past : Come, pilgrim, I will bring you 
Where you shall host : of enjoin'd penitents 
There's four or five, to great Jaques bound, 
Already at my house. 

Helena. I humbly thank you : 

Please it this matron, and this gentle maid. 
To eat with us to-night, the charge, and thanking, 
Shall be for me ; and, to requite you further, 
I will bestow some precepts on this virgin, 
Worthy the note. 

Both. We'll take your offer kindly. 

All's Well that Ends Well. — Jld HI., Scene V, 



KATHARINE 



Katharine. They call me — Katharine, that do talk of me. 

Petruchio. You lie, in faith; for you are call'd plain Kate, 
And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst ; 
But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, 
Kate of Kate-Hall, my super-dainty Kate, 
For dainties are all cates ; and therefore, Kate, 
Take this of me, Kate of my consolation, — 
Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town. 
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded 
(Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs), 
Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife. — 

Katharine. JVJov'd ! in good time; let him that mov'd you hitiie;, 
Remove you hence : I knew you at the first. 
You were a moveable. 

Petruchio. Why, what's a moveable 1 

Katharine. A joint-stool. 

Petruchio. Thou hast hit it : come, sit on me. 

Katharine. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. 

Petruchio. Women are made to bear, and so are you. 

Katharine. No such jade, sir, as you, if me you mean. 

Petruchio. Alas, good Kate, 1 will not burden thee ; 
For knowing thee to be but young and light, — 

Katharine. Too light for such a swain as you to catch ; 
And yet as heavy as my weight should be. 

Petruchio. Should be 1 Should buz. 

Katharine. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard — 

Petruchio. 0, slow-wing'd turtle ! shall a buzzard take thee ? 

Katharine. Ay, for a turtle ; as he takes a buzzard — 

Petruchio. Come, come, you wasp ; i'faith, you are too angry. 

Katharine. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. 

Petruchio. My remedy is then, to pluck it out 

Taming of the Shrew. — Act 11. , Scene I. 




G.o-.-e.- ,1 T KfUv 



.Aya/n€yUyn€. 



6^ 



lAiOilti. or TOE -^1!: 
Act Z- ?c 1 



PERDITA 



Florizel. What you do, 

Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, 
I'd have you do it ever : when you sing, 
I'd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms ; 
Pray so ; and, for the ordering your affairs, 
To sing them too : When you do dance, I wish you 
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do 
Nothing but that ; move still, still so, and own 
No other function : Each your doing. 
So singular in each particular, 
Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, 
That all your acts are queens. 

Perdita. Doricles, 

Your praises are too large : but that your youth, 
And the true blood, which fairly peeps through it, 
Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd ; 
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, 
You woo'd me the false way. 

Florizel. I think, you have 

As little skill to fear, as I have purpose 
To put you to't, — But, come ; our dance, I pray : 
Your hand, my Perdita : so turtles pair. 
That never mean to part. 

Perdita. I'll swear for 'em. 

Winter's Tale, ^ci IV., Scene III. 




J.iia.jttT. 



L U C I A N A 



ArMana. Neither my husband, nor the slave retnrne<l 
That in such haste I sent to seek his master ! 
Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. 

Luciana. Perhaps some merchant hath invited him, 
And from the mart he 's somewhere gone to dinner. 
Good sister, let us dine, and never fret : 
A man is master of his liberty : 
Time is their master ; and, when they see time, 
They 'II go, or come : If so, be patient, sister. 

Adriana. Why should their liberty than ours be more ? 

Lnciajia. Because their business still lies out o' dour. 

Adriana. Look, when I serve him so. he takes it ill. 

Luciana. 0, know, he is the bridle of your will. 

Adriana. There 's none, but asses, will be bridled so. 

Luciana. Why, headstrong liberty is lashed with woe. 
There 's nothing, situate under heaven's eye, 
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea. in sky : 
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls, 
Are their males' subjects, and at their controls : 
Men, more divine, and masters of all these. 
Lords of the wide world, and wild watery seas, 
Indued with intellectual sense and souls, 
Of more preeminence than fish or fowis. 
Are masters to their females, and their lords : 
Then let your will attend on their accords. 

Comedy of Errors. — Avt II., iSceite I. 



L A D Y M A C B R T IT 



Lady Macbeth. Go, get some water, 
And wash this filthy witness from your hand. — ■ 

Why did you bring these daggers from the place ? 1 

They must lie there : Go, carry them ; and smear \ 

The sleepy groom? with blood. 

Macbeth. I'll go no mo.e : j 

I am afraid to think what I have done ; | 

Look on't again, I dare not. 

Lady Macbeth. Infirm of purpose ! | 

Give me the daggers : The sleeping, and the dead, i 

A-e but as pictures : 'tis the eye of childhood, ' 

That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, ! 

I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, 
For it must seem their guilt. [Exit. Knocking withm. j 

Macbeth. Whence is that knocking? j 

How is't with me, when every noise appals me 1 j 

What hands are here ! Ha ! they pluck out mine eyes ! j 

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood j 

Clean from my hand 1 No ; this my hand will rather , 

The multitudinous seas incarnadine, ; 

Making the green — one red. 

Re-enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady Macbeth. My hands are of your color : but I shame , 

To wear a heart so white. [Knock^ I hear a knocking 
At the south entry: — retire we to our chamber: 

A little water clears us of this deed : j 

How easy is it then 1 Your constancy j 

Hath left you unattended. — [Knocking.'] Hark! more knocking: | 

Get on your night-gown, lest occasion call us, \ 

And show us to be watchers: — Be not lost 
So poorly in your thoughts. j 

Macbeth. To know my deed. — 'twere best not know myself. | 

[Knock. j 

Wake Duncan with thy knocking ! I would, thou could'st 1 \ 

[Exeunt. ' 

Macueth. — ^ct IL, Scene IL \ 




nL.Cto«r4.TiCeIl8, 



MAGBhTH 
Act i tc'i. 



CONSTANCE 



Constance. I will instruct my sorrows to be proud : 
For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. 
To me, and to the state of my great grief, 
Let kings assemble ; for my grief's so great, 
That no supporter but the huge firm earth 
Can hold it up : here I and sorrow sit ; 
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. 

She throws herself on the ground. 

Enter King John, King Philip, Lewis, Blanch, Elinor, Bastard 
Austria, and Attendants. 

King Philip. 'Tis true, fair daughter ; and this oJessed day. 
Ever in France shall be kept festival : 
To solemnize this day, the glorious sun 
Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist ; 
Turning, with splendor of his precious eye, 
The meagre cloddy earth to glistering gold : 
The yearly course, that brings this day about. 
Shall never see it but a hohday. 

Constance. A wicked day, and not a holyday ! — \^Rising. 
What hath this day deserv'd 1 what hath it done ; 
That it in golden letters should be set. 
Among the high tides, in the calendar 1 
Nay, rather, turn this day out of the week ; 
This day of shame, oppression, perjury : 
Or if it must stand still, let wives with child 
Pray, that their burdens may not fall this day. 
Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd ; 
But on this day, let seamen fear no wreck , 
No bargains break, that are not this day made : 
This day, all things begun come to ill end ; 
Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change ! 

King John. — Jlct III , Scene 1. 




'^^'?2^-Ci 



KINO J'Off:. 
A£t3.Scl 



QUEEN TO KICHAED II 



1 Lady. Madam, we '11 tell tales. 

Queen. Of sorrow, or of joy ? 

1 Lady. Of either, madam. 

Queen. Of neither, girl ; 

For if of joy, being altogether wanting, 
It doth remember me the more of sorrow ; 
Or if of grief, being altogether had, 
It adds more sorrow to my want of joy : 
For what I have, I need not to repeat ; 
And what I want, it boots not to complain. 

1 Lady. Madam, 1 '11 sing. 

Queen. 'T is well that thou hast cause ; 

But thou should' st please me better, would' st thou weep. 

1 Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do you good. 

Queen. And I could weep, would weeping do me good, 
And never borrow any tear of thee. 
But stay, here come the gardeners : 
Let 's step into the shadow of these trees. 

Enter a Gardener and two Servants. 
My wretchedness unto a row of pins. 
They '11 talk of state ; for every one doth so 
Against a change : Woe is forerun with woe. 

Richard II. — Act III., Scene IV. 






V, 



■//. 



LADY PERCY 



Lady Percy. In faith, < 



I'll know your business, Harry, that I will 
I fear, ray brother Mortimer doth stir 
About his title ; and hath sent for you, 
To line his enterprise : But if you go- 



Hotspur. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. 

Lady Percy. Come, come, you paiaquito, answer me 
Directly to this question that I f>sl» 
Tn faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry, 
An if thou wilt not tell me all things true. 

Hotspur. Away, 
Away, you trifler ! — Love ! I love thee not, 
I care not for thee, Kate ; this is no world, 
To play with raammets, and to tilt with lips : 
We must have bloody noses, and crack'd crowns. 
And pass them current too. — Gods me, my horse ! — 
What say'st thou, Kate ? what wouldst thou have with ine ? 

Lady Percy. Do you not love me 1 do you not indeed ? 
Well, do not then ; for since you love me not, 
I will not love myself. Do you not love me ? 
Nay, tell me, if you speak in jest, or no. 

Hotspur. Come, wilt thou see me ride 1 
And when I am o' horseback, I will swear 
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate ; 
I must not have you henceforth question me 
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout : 
Whither I must, I must ; and, to conclude, 
This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. 
I know you wise ; but yet no further wise. 
Than Harry Percy's wife : constant you are ; 
But yet a woman : and for secresy. 
No lady closer ; for I well believe. 
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know j 
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate ! 

Lady Percy. How ! so far ? 

Hotspur. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate 1 
Whither 1 go, thither shall you go too ; 
To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. — 
Will this content you, Kate ? 

Lady Percy. It must, of force. 

King Henky IV., Part I. — Act IL, Scene III 







^ 



:^^z^d^ 



KENKC rr 
Fara Act*Z Se.ni 



LADY NORTHUMBERLAND 



Northumberland. Beshrew your heart, 

b^iir daughter ! you do draw my spirits from me. 
With new lamenting ancient oversights. 
But I must go, and meet with danger there ; 
Or it will seek me in another place, 
And find me worse provided. 

Lady Northumberland. 0, fly to Scotland, 
Till that the nobles, and the armed commons, 
H ave of their puissance made a little taste. 

Lady Percy. If they get ground and vantage of the king, 
T'nen join you with them, like a rib of steel, 
To make strength stronger ; but, for all oui- loves. 
First let them try themselves : So did your son ; 
He was so suffered ; so came I a widow ; 
And never shall have length of life enough. 
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, 
That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, 
For recordation to my noble husband. 

Northumberland. Come, come, go in with me: 'tis with my mind, 
As with the tide swelled up into its height. 
That makes a still-stand, running neither way. 
Fain would I go to meet the archbishop. 

But many thousand reasons hold me back : 

I will resolve for Scotland ; there am I, 
Till time and vantage crave my company. 

Henry IV. — Act II. , Scene II. 




.^2^.^ii:^u/ Qyl^- 



PRINCESS KATHARINE OF FRANCE. 



King Henry. Come, your answer in broken musick ; for thy voice is 
musick, and thy English broken : therefore, queen of all, Katharine, 
break thy mind to me in broken English. Wilt thou have me ? 

Princess Katharine. Dat is, as it shall please de roy mon pere. 

King Henry. Nay, it will please him well, Kate ; it shall please him, 
Kate. 

Princess Katharine. Den it shall also content me. 

King Henry. Upon that I will kiss your hand, and I call you — my 
queen. 

Princess Katharine. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez : mufoy, 
je ne veux point que vous ahaissez vostre grandeur, en haisant la main 
dhine vostre indigne serviteure ; excusez moy, je vous supplie, mon tres 
puissant seigneur. 

King Henry. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. 

Princess Katharine. Les dames, et damoiselles, pour estre baisees 
devant leur nopces, il rCest pas le coutume de France. 

King Henry. Madam, my interpreter, what says she ? 

Alice. Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of France — I cannot 
tell what is, baiser, en English. 

King Henry. To kiss. 

Alice. Your majesty entendre bettre qu moy. 

King Henry. It is not the fashion for the maids in France to kiss 
before they are married, would she say ? 

Alice. Ouy, vrayinent. 

King Henry. Kate, nice customs curt'sy to great kings. Dear 
Kate, you and I cannot be confined within the weak list of a country's 
fashion : we are the makers of manners, Kate ; and the liberty that 
follows our places, stops the mouths of all find-faults ; as I will do 
yours, for upholding the nice fashion of your country, in denying me 
a kiss : therefore patiently, and yielding. [Kissing her-l You have 
witchcraft in your lips, Kate : there is more eloquence in a sugar 
touch of them than in the tongues of the French council ; and they 
should sooner persuade Harry of England, than a general petition of 
monarchs 

King Henky V. — Act F., Scene H. 




^yC/^Uk^ "-^ '• 



JOAN OF ARC. 



Pucelle. First, let me tell you whom you have condemn'd; 
Not one begotten of a shepherd swain, 
But issu'd from the progeny of kings ; 
Virtuous, and holy; chosen from above. 
By inspiration of celestial grace, 
To work exceeding miracles on earth. 
I never had to do with wicked spirits: 
But you, — that are polluted with your lusts, 
Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents, 
Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices, — 
Because you want the grace that others have, 
You judge it straight a thing impossible 
To compass wonders, but by help of devils. 
No, misconceived ! Joan of Arc hath been 
A virgin from her tender infancy, 
Chaste and immaculate in very thought; 
Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd. 
Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven. 

York. Ay, ay ; — away with her to executidn. 

Warwick. And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid, 
Spare for no fagots, let there be enough: 
Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake. 
That so her torture may be shortened. 

Pucelle. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts 1 

King Henry VI. Part l.~.M V., Scene IV. 




(S^ 



(i^'iz-n- 




QUEEN MARGARET, 



Queen Margaret. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit aucl 
wail their loss, 
But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. 
What, though the mast be now blown overboard, 
The cable broke, the holding anchor lost. 
And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood 1 
Yet lives our pilot still : Is't meet, that he 
Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad, 
With tearful eyes add water to the sea, 
And give more strength to that which hath too much \ 
Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock, 
Which industi-y and courage might have sav'd ? 
Ah, what a shame ! ah, what a fault were this J 
Say, Warwick was our anchor ! What of that ? 
And Montague our top-mast ; What of him 1 
Our slaughter'd friends the tackles ; What of these 1 
Why, is not Oxford here another anchor ? 
And Somerset another goodly mast ; 
The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings ? 
And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I 
For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge ? 
We will not from the helm, to sit and weep ; 
But keep our course, though the rough wind say — no, 
From shelves and rocks that threaten us with WTeck. 
As good to chide the waves as speak them fair. 
And what is Edward, but a ruthless sea 1 
What Clarence, but a quicksand of deceit ? 
And Richard, but a ragged fatal rock '? 
All these the enemies to our poor bark. 
Say, you can swim ; alas, 'tis but a while : 
Tread on the sand ; why, there you quickly sink ; 
Bestride the rock ; the tide will wash you off, 
Or else you famish, that's a threefold death. 
This speak I, lords, to let you understand, 
In case some one of you would fly from us, 
That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the brothers. 
More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and rocks. 
Why, courage, then ! what cannot be avoided, 
'Twere childish weakness to lament, or fear. 

King Henry VL, Part III. — Act V., Scene IV. 



LADY GREY. 



King Edvmrd. 'T were pitj they should lose their fathic's land. 
Lady Grey. Be pitiful, di-ead lord, and grant it, then. 
King Edward. Lords, give us leave ; I '11 try this widow's will. 
Gloucester. Ay, good leave have you ; for you will have leave, 
Till youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch. 

[Gloucester and Clarence 7-etire to the other side. 
King Edward. Now tell me, madam, do you love your children ? 
Lady Grey. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself 
King Edivard. And would you not do much to do them good 1 
Lady Grey. To do them good, I would sustain some harm. 
Ki?ig Edward. Then get your husband's lands, to do them good. 
Lady Grey. Therefore I came unto your majesty. 
King Edivard. I '11 tell you how these lands are to be got. 
Lady Grey. So shall you bind me to your highness' service. 
King Edward. What service wilt thou do me, if I give them 'i 
Lady Grey. What you command, that rests in me to do. 

King Henry VL — Act III., Scene II. 



LADY ANNE 



Anjie. Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell ! 
Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, 
His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be gone. 

Gloucester. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. 

Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not, 
For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, 
Fill'd it with cursing cries, and deep exclaims. 
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, 
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries; 
O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds 
Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh ! — 
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity; 
For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood 
From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells: 
Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, 
Provokes this deluge most unnatural. — 
God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death! 
earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death ! 
Either, heaven, with lightning strike the murderer dead. 
Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick; 
As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood. 
Which his hell-governed arm hath butchered ! 

King Richard HI. — ./Id I., Scene 11. 



-3- 




^^/ -^ '/r'yn^e^' 



QUEEN KATHERINE. 



Griffith. She is asleep : Good wench, let's sit down quiet, 
For fear we wake her ; — Sottly, gentle Patience. 

Katherine. Spirits of peace, where are ye ? Are ye all gone 1 
And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye 1 

Griffith. Madam, we are here. 

Katherine. It is not you I call for : 

Saw ye none enter, since I slept ? ! 

Griffith. None, madam. 

Katherine. No ? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop 
Invite me to a banquet ; whose bright faces 
Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun 1 
ITiey promis'd me eternal happiness ; 

And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel '• 

I am not worthy yet to wear : I shall. 
Assuredly. • ' 

Griffith. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams 
Possess your fancy. i 

Katherine. Bid the music leave, i 

They are harsh and heavy to me. 

[Music ceases. 

Patience. Do you note. 

How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden 1 \ 

How long her face is drawn 1 How pale she looks, ! 

And of an earthly cold ? Mark you her eyes ? 

Griffith. She is going, wench ; pray, pray. • « 

Patience. Heaven comfort her ! j 

Katherine. Mine eyes grow dim, — Farewell, i 

My lord. — Griffith, farewell. — Nay, Patience, i 

You must not leave me yet. I must to bed ; \ 

Call in more women. — When I am dead, good wench, 
Let me be us'd with honor ; strew me over 

With maiden flowers, that all the world may know • 

I was a chaste wife to my grave : embalm me, I 

Then lay me forth : although unqueen'd, yet like , i 

A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. ' 

I can no more. 

King Henry VIII.— ^c^ IV., Scene II. j 



^' 



**i4 




^ 
^^^/.,<^'/?- 



C rZ^^^, 



Z^^l^^^^'Z^' 



CKESSIDA, 



Trailus. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity, 
That the blest gods — as angry with my fancy, 
More bright in zeal than the devotion which 
Cold lips blow to their deities — take thee from me. 

Cressida. Have the gods envy 1 

Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay : 'tis too plain a case. 

Cressida. And is it true, that I must go from Troy? 

Troilus. A hateful truth. 

Cressida. What, and from Troilus too ? 

Troilus. From Troy, and Troilus 

Cressida. Is it possible ? 

Troilus. And suddenly ; where injury of chance 
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by 
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips 
Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents 
Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows 
Even in the birth of our own laboring breath : 
We two, that with so many thousand sighs 
Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves 
With the rude brevity and discharge of one. 
Injurious time now, with a robber's haste, 
Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how : 
As many farewells as be stars in heaven, 
With distinct breath and consigned kisses to them, 
He fumbles up into a loose adieu ; 
And scants us with a single famish'd kiss. 
Distasted with the salt of broken tears. 



Troilus and Cressida. — Ad IV., !<cenc IV 



I I 

1J 



AiMilllW 







^^1 



X 



c^A^e^^^^J^ 



VIRGILIA. 



Coriolanus. My wife comes foremost • then the honor'd mould 
Wnerein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand 
The grandchild to her blood. But, out, affection . 
All bond and privilege of nature, break ! 
Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate. — 
What is that curt'sy worth; or those doves' eyes, 
Which can make gods forsworn ? — ^I melt, and am not 
Of stronger earth than others. — My mother bows ; 
As if Olympus to a molehill should 
In supplication nod : and my young boy 

Hath an aspect of intercession, which > 

Great nature cries. Deny not, — Let the Voices ! 

Plough Rome, and harrow Italy ; I'll never j 

Be such a gosling to obey instinct ; but stand, ! 

As if a man were author of himself, | 

And knew no other kin. \ 

Virgilia. My lord and husband? ' 

Coriolanus. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome. 

Virgilia. The sorrow, that delivers us thus chang'd. 
Makes you think so. 

Coriolanus. Like a dull actor now, i 

I have forgot my part, and I am out, : 

Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, I 

Forgive my tyranny ; but do not say, 

For that, Forgive our Romans, — O, a kiss 1 

Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge! j 

Now by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss ; 

I carried from thee, dear ; and my true lip ; 

Hath virgin'd it e'er since. You gods ! I prate, ; 

And the most noble mother of the world ' 

Leave unsaluted : Sink, my knee, i' the earth; [Kneels. | 

Of thy deep duty more impression show -j 

Than that of common sons. j 

Coriolanus. — Act V., Scene HI. 







rt</.^C6tL 



^ 



CORIOLANfS 
Acts. Scl, 



PORTIA, WIFE OF BRUTUS 



Brutus. Kneel not, gentle Portia. 

Portia. I should not need, if you were gentle T^i itus. 
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, 
Is it expected I should know no secrets 
That appertain to you 1 Am I yourself, 
But, as it were, in sort, or limitation : 
To keep with you, at meals, comfort your bed. 
And talk to you sometimes ? Dwell I but in the suburbs 
Of your good pleasure 1 If it be no more, 
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. 

Brutus. You are my true aud honorable wife; 
As dear to me, as are the ruddy drops 
That visit my sad heart. 

Portia. If this were true, then should I know this secret 
I grant, I am a woman : but, withal, 
A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife : 
I grant I am a woman ; but, withal, 
A woman well reputed ; Cato's daughter. 
Think you, I am no stronger than my sex, 
Being so father'd, and so husbanded 1 
Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them : 
I have made strong proof of ray constancy, 
Giving myself a voluntary wound 
Here, in the thigh : Can I bear that with patience, 
And not my husband's secrets 1 

Brutus. O ye gods, 

Render me worthy of this noble wife ! 

[Knocking within. 
Hark, hark ! one knocks : Portia, go in a while ; 
And by and by thy bosom shall partake 
The secrets of my heart. 
All ray engageraents I will construe to thee, 
All the charactery of my sad brows : — 
Leave me with haste. \Exit Portia. 

Julius C^sar. — Act II., Scene I, 




o'l^^^ay !^^^f^^^7T^ .^^/^z^ 



C36J 



CLEOPATRA 



Cleopatra. Charmian, 

Where think'st thou he is now ? Stands he, or sits he ? 
Or does he walk ? or is he on his horse 7 
happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony ! 
Do bravely, horse, for wot'st thou whom thou mov'sf? 
The demi- Atlas of this earth, the arm 
And burgonet of men. He's speaking now, 
Or murmuring, Where 's my serpent of old Nile 7 
For so he calls me. Now I feed myself 
With most delicious poison. Think on me. 
That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black, 
And wrinkled deep in time .' Broad-fronted Caesar, 
When thou wast here above the ground, I was 
A morsel for a monarch : and great Pompey 
Would stand, and make his eyes grow in my brow ; 
There would he anchor his aspect, and die 
With looking on his life. 

Enter Alexas. 

Alexas. Sovereign of Egypt, hail ! 

Cleopatra. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony I 
Yet coming from him, that great medicine hath 
With his tinct gilded thee. — 
How goes it with my brave Mark Antony ? 

Alexas. Last thing he did, dear queen. 
He kissed — the last of many doubled kisses — 
This orient pearl. His speech sticks in my heart. 

Cleopatra. Mine ear must pluck it thence. 

Alexas. Good friend, quoth he, 

Say, The firm Roman to great Egypt sends 
This treasure of an oyster ; at lohose foot 
To mend the petty present, I will piece 
Her opulent throne icith kingdoms. All the east 
Say thou, shall call her mistress. So he nodded. 
And soberly did mount a termagant steed, 
Who neighed so high, that what I would have spoke 
Was beastly dumbed by him. 

Antony and Cleopatra. — Act I. Sceuti V 





AlfTONY & CI,EOPjtTJlA 

ArzX Sc 5. 



IMOGEN. 



Imogen. Continues well, my lord, his health, beseech you ? 

lachimo. Well, madam. 

Imogen. Is he disposed to mirth ? I hope, he is. 1 

lachimo. Exceeding pleasant : none a stranger there \ 

So merry and so gamesome : he is call'd i 

The Briton reveller. ' 

Imogen. When he was here, .i 

He did incline to sadness ; and oft-times ' 
Not knowing why. 

lachimo I never saw him sad. ^ 

There is a Frenchman his companion, one j 

An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves j 

A Gallian girl at home : he furnaces ] 

The thick sighs from him ; whiles the jolly Briton \ 

(Your lord I mean) laughs from's free lungs, cries, ! | 

Can m,y sides hold, to think, that man, — who knows 1 
By history, report, or his own. proof. 

What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose i 
But must he, — will his free hours languish for 

Assured bondage 7 ] 

Imogen. Will my lord say so ? ; 

lachimo. Ay, madam : with his eyes in flood with laughter. , 

It is a recreation to be by, " 

And hear him mock the Frenchman : But, heavens know, j 

Some men are much to blame. j 

Imogen. Not he, I hope 

lachimo. Not he : But yet heaven's bounty towards hira 

might i 

Be used more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much ; | 
In you, — which I count his, beyond all talents. — 

Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound \ 

To pity too. i 

Imogen. What do you pity, sir 1 \ 

lachimo. Two creatures, heartily. -i 

Imogen. Am I one, sir ? \ 

You look on me ; What wreck discern you in me, i 

Deserves your pity ? ; 

Cymbeline. — Act I,, Scene Vll. j 




w^ . 



CYtWELlNt: 
Actl. So.7. 



L A V T N 1 A 



Titus. Look, Marcus ! ah, son Lucius, look on her. 
When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears 
Stood on her cheeks ; as doth the honey dew 
Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. 

Marcus. Perchance, she weeps because they kill'd her hasband ; 
Perchance, because she knows them innocent. 

Titu^. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful 
Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them.— ^ 
No, no, they would not do so foul a deed ; 
Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. — 
Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips ; 
Or make some sign how I may do thee ease : 
Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, 
And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain; 
Looking all downwards, to behold our cheeks 
How they are stain'd % like meadows, yet not dry 
With miry slime left on them by a flood 1 
And in the fountain shall we gaze so long. 
Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, 
And made a brine pit with our bitter tears 1 
Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine 1 
Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows 
Pass the remainder of our hateful days ? 
What shall we do ? let us, that have our tongues, 
Plot some device of further misery. 
To make us wonder'd at, in time to come. 

Lucius. Sweet father, cease your tears ; for, at your griet. 
See, how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. 

Marcus. Patience, dear niece : — good Titus, dry thine eyes 

Tihis. Ah, Marcus, Marcus ! brother, well I wot. 
Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine. 
For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own 

TiTus Andronicus. — Act III., Scene I. 




a/Wynyi€7j^ 



THASIA 



Slmnnidea. Who is the firet that doth prefer himself? 

Thaisa. A knight of Sparta, mj renowned father ; 
And the device he bears upon his shield 
Is a black ^thiop reaching at the sun ; 
The word, Lux tua vita mihi. 

Simonides. He loves you well, that holds his life of you. 

[ The second Knight passes 
Who is the second that presents himself? 

Thaisa. A prince of Macedon, my royal father ; 
And the device he bears upon his shield 
Is an armed knight that 's conquered by a lady, 
The motto thus, in Spanish, Plu per dul^ura que per fuer^a. 

[ The third Knight passes. 

Simonides. And what 's the third ? 

Thaisa. The third, of Antioch ; , 

And his device, a wreath of chivalry : ■ 

The word, Me pompce provexit apex. ] 

\The fourth Knight passes. i 

Simonides. What is the fourth 1 

Thaisa. A burning torch, that 's turned upside down : 
The word. Quod me alit, me extinguit. ; 

Simonides. Which shows that beauty hath his power and will, ' 

Which can as well inflame, as it can kill. . 

[ The fifth Knight passes. ', 

Thaisa. The fifth, a hand environed with clouds ; ] 

Holding out gold, that 's by the touchstone tried ; I 

The motto thus. Sic spectanda fides. \ 

[ The sixth Knight passes. \ 

Simonides. And what 's the sixth and last, which the knight himself ; 

With such a graceful courtesy dehvered ? i 

Thaisa. He seems a stranger ; but his present is 
A withered branch, that 's only green at top ; \ 

The motto, Iti hac spe vivo. ' 

Pericles. — Act II., Scene II. 




7^7/i/r7 



CORDELIA. 



Cordelia. you kind gods, 
Cure this great breach in his abused nature ! 
The untun'd and jarring senses, 0, wind up 
Of this child-changed father ! 

Physician. So please your majesty, 

That we may wake the king 1 he hath slept long. 

Cordelia. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed 
P the sway of your own will. Is he array'd ? 

Gentleman. Ay, madam ; in the heaviness of his sleep^ 
We put fresh garments on him. 

Physician. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him ; 
I doubt not of his temperance. 

Cordelia. Very well. 

Physician. Please you, draw near. — Louder the musick there. 

Cordelia. my dear father ! Restoration, hang 
Thy medicine upon my lips ; and let this kiss 
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters 
Have in thy reverence made ! 

Kent. Kind and dear princess ! 

Cordelia. Had you not been their father, these white flakeij 
Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face 
To be expos'd against the warring winds 1 
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder ? 
In the most terrible and nimble stroke 
Of quick, cross-lightning? to watch (poor perdu!) 
With this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog. 
Though he had bit me, should have stood that night 
Against my fire ; And wast thou fain, poor father, 
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn. 
In short and musty straw ? Alack, alack ! 
'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once 
Had not concluded all. — He wakes ; speak to him. 

King Lear. — Act VI., Scene VII. 



I 



.JULIET. 



Romeo. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! 
0, that I were a glove upon that hand, 
That I might touch that cheek ! 

Juliet. Ah me ! 

Romeo. She speaks : — 

0, speak again, bright angel ! for thou art 
As glorious to this sight, being o'er my head, 
As is a winged messenger of heaven 
Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes 

Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, ^ 

When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, j 

And sails upon the bosom of the air ! j 

Juliet. 0, Romeo, Romeo ! wherefore art thou Romeo 7 j 

Deny thy father, and refuse thy name : 

Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, .| 

And I '11 no longer be a Capulet. ; 

Romeo. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this 7 [Aside. 

Juliet. 'T is but thy name that is my enemy ; 
Thou art thyself though, not a Montague. j 

What 's Montague 7 it is nor hand, nor foot. 

Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part \ 

Belonging to a man. 0, be some other name ! j 

What 's in a name 7 that which we call a rose i 

By any other name would smell as sweet ; 

So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, -j 

Retain that dear perfection which he owes, j 

Without that title : — Romeo, dolF thy name : I 

And for that name, which is no part of thee, : 

Take all myself \ 

Romeo. I take thee at thy word : ' 

Call me but love, and I '11 be new baptized ; ; 

Henceforth I never will be Romeo. 

Juliet. What man art thou, that, thus bescreened in night. 
So stumblest on my counsel '\ 

Romeo and Juliet. — Act II., Scene II. J 






ROMEO AJn- .JV-LIET 



OPHELIA 



Laertes. rose of May! 

Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! 

heavens ! is 't possible, a young maid's wits 
Should be as mortal as an old man's life ? 
Naturo is fine in love ; and, where 'tis fine, 

It sends some precious instance of itself 
Alter the thing it loves. 

Ophelia. They bore him harefac'd on the bier ; 
Hey no nonny, nonny hey nonny : 
And in his grave rained many a tear ; — 
Fare you well, my dove ! 

Laeries. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge, 
It could not move thus. 

O-phelia. You must sing, Down-a-doicn, an you call Mm a-down-a. 
O, how the wheel becomes it ! it is the false steward, that stole his 
master's daughter. 

Laertes. This nothing's more than matter. 

Ophelia. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance ; 'pray you love, 
remember : and there is pansies, that's for thoughts. 

Laertes. A document in madness ; thoughts and remembrance 
fitted. 

Ophelia. There's fennel for you, and columbines : — there's rue for 
you ; and here's some for me : — we may call it, herb of grace o' Sun- 
days : — you may wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy ; — 

1 would give you some violets ; but they withered all, when my fathei 
died ; — They say, he made a good end, 

For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy. [^Sings. 

Laertes. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself. 
She turns to favor and to prettiness. 

Ophelia. And will he not come again? [Sings. 

And will he not come again? 
JVo, no, he is dead, 
Go to thy death-bed, 
He never will come again. 

His beard was as white as snow, 
All flaxen was his poll : 

He is gone, he is gone, 

And we cast away moan; 
God a' mercy on his soul f 
And of all Christian souls ! I pray God. God be wi' you 

Hamlet. — Act IV., Scene V. 



DESDEMONA. 



Othello. These things to hear, 

Would Desdemona seriously incline: 
But still the house aifairs would draw her thence; 
Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear 
Devour up my discourse: Which I observing. 
Took once a pliant hour; and found good means 
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart. 
That 1 would all my pilgrimage dilate, 
W^hereof by parcels she had something heard, 
But not intentively : I did consent ; 
And often did beguile her of her tears. 
When I did speak of some distressful stroke, 
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, 
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 
She swore, — In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange ; 
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful : 
She wish'd she had not heard it ; yet she wish'd 
That heaven had made her such a man ; she thanked me ; 
And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, 
[ should but teach him how to tell my story, 
And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake: 
She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd; 
And I lov'd her, that she did pity them. 

Othello. — Ad /., Srene 111 



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